


used but not abused

by butthulu



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Come Inflation, Crying, Light BDSM, M/M, Omorashi, Sex Swing, Spanking, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butthulu/pseuds/butthulu
Summary: Eridan treats Sollux to something new.





	used but not abused

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hummingbirdbandit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbirdbandit/gifts).



> WARNING: This fic has seedflap fucking. Seedflaps are *not* cervixes, despite their similarities! They're meant to be pulled aside, like the "flap" part of the name implies. Still, this might squick people, so I'm putting this warning here for y'all as well as tagging when I get to a desktop computer.

"You remember the rules, right?"   
  
"Of courthe I do, ED. I have ADHD, not dumb bitch ditheathe."   
  
"Sol, shut the fuck up. But, uh, recite the rules first."   
  
Sollux rolls his eyes, and you want to smack him. You will, just, not now. Not  _ right _ now. Later. All good things come in time, et cetera. He's being a little asshole, but that's what you like about him? Anyways. You pay attention so you can make sure that he is actually following your order and not blowing you off. You only tune in when he's about half done.    
  
"-don't thpeak unleth thpoken to or given permission, and no thionicth. Happy?" He gives you a Look that you lap up like a meowbeast with milk. You love when he gets irritated with you, second only to when he's pleased with you. Both prove that you're doing your job right.

 

"Yeah, wery," you tell him, running a hand down the middle of his back. His spine stands out against his skin, all round and knobbly instead of breaching the surface to form into spines and fins like a seadweller's. It's very pretty. Sure, it's a sign of how malnourished he still is, even after you've spent the last half sweep dragging him kicking and screaming into self-care(funded by yours truly), but, well, you have to find beauty in small things. He'll fill out eventually, if you just keep feeding him more.   
  
You, uh, got a little distracted, there. He's very distracting.   
  
He opens his mouth, and it better not be to say something, because he  _ literally _ just told you the rules, what the fuck, Sol. To defend him from the consequences of his potential actions, you put two fingers in his mouth and press down on his tongue. His eyebrows rise in a derisive fashion, but he also flushes, his cheeks dusting delicate yellow, so you count it as a win. You wish you could know what he's thinking right now. Even when he won't shut up, he never just comes out and says what he's thinking, at least not without assistance. He's squirrely and skittish and slippery and basically infuriating in every way, so of course you love him to bits. He doesn't know that yet, but you plan on telling him. Maybe. Someday. It has to be appropriately dramatic. You've got a reputation to uphold, after all.

 

In the present, Sollux closes his lips around your fingers and sucks, swirling his tongue lazily over your blunted claws and fingerpads. It would be kind of weird, if it was anyone else, in any other situation, but here, it's weirdly erotic. You let him carry on for a few moments, before pulling your fingers out of his mouth.    
  
"Good boy," you purr, and delight in watching the little white pinpricks of his pupils dilate. "Now-w, I know-w you've got an oral fixation, so I hawe a toy for you. You'we bitten through ewery other gag I'we giwen you, so I made sure you couldn't do it w-with this one." You hold it up. It doesn't  _ look _ any different from the other ball gags you've given him, but that's the beauty of it. It's supposed to be surreptitious. He squints at you in disbelief and suspicion, but you mutter, "Just fuckin' trust me, Sol, it's good."   
  
You put the ball gag between his teeth, fastening the buckle to keep its strap in place. It looks so good-  _ he _ looks so good. You've tied him up in a rope harness that's suspended from hooks in the ceiling, which you installed yourself above your shared respite platform. His arms are tied behind his back, his knees spread and dangling, with toes just barely brushing the sheets. He's goddamn gorgeous.

 

"You look so good," you coo, cupping his cheeks for a moment before you pap his cheek. His face is so yellow, you wish you could take a picture. Sol says no pictures, though. It's one of the things he hasn't budged on ever, even temporarily. He's scared shitless of someone finding out how mutated he is, even though pretty much everyone in your friend group kind of knows already. You've got a couple of mutations, yourself, but it's nothing cullable, not like him, so you can't really understand his skittishness over it, not in any way that matters. (You learned that lesson the hard way.)   
  
Sol has the audacity to shake his head. You frown, narrowing your eyes at his impudence. "You do," you insist. "Sol, you can't disagree with me on this, I'm the objectiwe fuckin' expert on the matter. I'm the highest authority out there on the topic of you bein' fuckin' hot."   
  
He rolls his eyes at you and you retaliate by pulling on his hair. He moans. "That's more like it. Honestly, Sol, you're so difficult." Your voice is so dripping with red fondness, you have to count your lucky stars that he hasn't figured out you love him yet. He's so dumb.

 

"I know-w you like it w-when I tell you this stuff," you sigh, shaking your head and rising up to circle around to his backside. "I don't know-w w-why you're so difficult about it." Your hand slides down his lower back and cups his ass, giving it a nice firm squeeze. He still doesn't have much body fat, but his ass is at least  _ less _ bony than when you two first pailed, which you appreciate. It was like slamming your hips into a wooden shelving unit. Yes, you got your bulge wet and it was great, but you also had bruises for like, five days after. (He was so apologetic about it, though, which was frankly more than cute enough to make up for it.) 

 

Boniness of your boyfriend's ass aside, the view you've got from up here is great. You test and tighten the knots of his harness once more, less out of fear and more to reassure yourself that your work is impeccable. It is. All those kismetic....  _ dalliances _ with Vriska, they've really paid off, what with all the shipfaring knots you had to learn just to keep up with her. Granted, you never imagined that you would be using those selfsame knots in such sexy circumstances. That's beside the point, though.

 

Your hand slides down between Sol's legs, teasing his wastechute entrance with your thumb while your fingers dip down to his nook. You've never been in his wastechute, but you're hoping eventually he'll ask you. You know he's into it. Case in point: Sol shivers, his thighs twitching against the spreader bar keeping them open. Your blunt-clawed index and middle fingers press into his nook, and you rub your knuckles up against his shame globes while scissoring your digits. It squeezes his shameglobes juuust a little, drawing a teeny whimper from him. He's always quiet at first, but you've kept track of what makes him lose it. One day, you're gonna have it all laid out like a map, and launch a coordinated attack on every single sweet spot he has. You're gonna make him scream so loud the whole neighborhood goes dark.

 

For now, though, you're still gathering intel. 

 

You kneel behind Sol, looking at his nook. It's practically soaked your fingers already, which is a good sign. Yellow preslurry has dripped onto the spreader bar, and below that, the bed. "So eager," you murmur, a smile on your face. "Cod, Sol, you're so w-wet, if I didn't know any betta, I'd think you w-were a seadw-weller."

 

Sol makes a disgusted noise at you. Your smile widens.

 

"Now-w, don't be like that, Sol," you drawl, turning your hand so the pads of your fingers rest against his globes. You curl them, pressing up on them much more firmly than before. The sound he makes is absolutely  _ delightful. _ Not giggling is maybe the hardest thing you've ever done. 

 

For a few more moments, you rub his shameglobes and watch him squirm. It's just so  _ nice. _ But.... poor Sol doesn't deserve all this teasing. He's really being remarkably good about this, and he deserves a reward. So you lean down, and in, and slide your tongue into his nook, pushing it as far in as it'll go. Not to brag or anything, but you manage to brush his seedflap with the tip of it. It's pretty impressive. Sollux's nook isn't exactly shallow, especially for his size.

 

You swirl your tongue over his globes in wide, lazy circles, while your now-free hands explore other options. One of them strokes the outside of his thigh, practically petting him, while the other seeks his bulges. Despite his arousal, and your insistent massaging of his globes, his bulges remain mostly hidden, tucked away inside their sheath. He's got problems letting them come out to play. You.... encourage them out. By, uh, pushing your fingers into his vent and dragging them into the open. They do so with a gush of preslurry that splatters beautifully on the sheets. Sol cries out from behind the gag, his legs straining to close against the spreader bar. His bulges writhe in the open air, twisting and squirming like they're uncomfortable. They might well be; Sol has a bad habit of not touching them very often, and keeping them cramped up in their sheath, so they're rather more sensitive than normal. It's self-preservation, but the whole point of this is that he can trust you with them. With him. You would never betray that trust, but you have to be able to prove that.

 

So, of course you wrap your hand around them and squeeze. Gently, of course! You're not a fuckin' barbarian. 

 

Sol makes a sound like a squeaky toy, and not on purpose. This time, you do giggle. In "retaliation," he growls ineffectually at you. He can't do shit while he's tied up like this, which is honestly half the fun. His frustration, his desperation... Drawing them out is the most fun you've ever had. You could never ever get bored with him. He is endlessly fascinating. For instance, when you separate his bulges and curl your index and middle fingers around one and your ring and pinky fingers around the other, keeping them apart(at least at the base), and rub the pad of your thumb into the divide between them, what will he do?

 

The answer is: nearly pail himself. He really almost does. He sounds like a dying whale, for a second, his muscles straining and tense. His back arches in the harness, as much as it can. It's the most strength you've seen out of him without his psionics, which makes a burst of pride bloom in your chest like a flavor blister popping on your tongue. Cod, you're so fucking proud of him. He's so good, can't he see? You have to show him.

 

Kisses, those you leave in a trail over his skin, from the curve of his ass down to his thighs. Yes, you have to pull your tongue out of his nook to do this, but small sacrifices must be made, and besides, your hand is keeping his bulges well enough occupied that you're pretty sure he won't mind. You twist and ease under him, sitting up with your head tilted back so your horns don't gut him. Then you bring his bulges together, tuck your fangs behind your lips, and fit the tips into your mouth, slurping them down like so much cheap Eastern Prefecture noodles.

 

This time, Sollux really does pail. You barely have enough time to suck him all the way into your throat before the slurry hits you, your throat working dutifully around him. Gold seeps out around the corners of your mouth from the moments in between swallows, but you don't budge. You're not done yet, and neither is he.

 

Still, you can't stay on his bulges forever, despite maybe definitely kind of wanting to. You pull off with a long, lewd slurp, making sure you get every last drop of slurry out of this orgasm before you start building him up for his next. He's panting, little moans carried on every breath, but those noises taper off into mere breathing much too soon. When you pull out from under him, your chest is soaked in yellow from his nook and your pants are soaked in purple from your own wiggly. Sol's toes are curled into the sheets, and you see the subtle flicker of a spark around his horns, indicating that he lowered himself so he could get leverage. He  _ does _ immediately push his ass in your direction and make a desperate sound like he's begging you to fuck him, but he also  _ did _ break the rules. If you fucked him now, you would be rewarding him for bad behavior, and that simply won't stand. 

 

"Sol," you say. "I saw-w that." He goes still in the rig, but you see the ropes tremble when he shivers  at your words. "You broke the rules. I said no psionics. You agreed to no psionics. I'm gonna take out the gag, and you're gonna tell me w-what the punishment is for breaking the rules."

 

With one hand resting on his back, just above his ass, you move to his side and unbuckle the ball gag. It takes a moment to ease it out from between his teeth, but when you do, he whines, "ED, pleathe, it wath only for a thecond!"

 

"That's not w-what I asked for, Sol," you reply, a warning note in your voice, now. You're not actually irritated, but he likes to beg and plead, so you indulge him. (And yourself, if you're being honest.)

 

You get the delight of watching him squirm and whine for a moment, before he lets his head drop in defeat and says, "The punishment for breaking the ruleth ith thpanking. Ten thtriketh for each violation."

 

Your eyebrows rise in surprise; that's more than he usually asks for. Concern flickers to life in your pusher. "Right. W-what color, Sol?"

 

He turns his head and blinks up at you for a second. "Uh, green."

 

You sigh in relief; he's fine. He'd tell you red if he wanted to stop. You'll ask him again once you're done with the first set. He  _ did _ break the rules twice- you're counting him talking back as a violation. 

 

"Good," you mutter, as he returns his head to its previous position. You count down- "three, tw-wo, one"- before you lift your hand and bring it down on his ass. He squawks, like he always does on the first hit, which makes you smile. Again, and again, and when you hit ten strikes you rub his asscheeks gently. They're already tinted yellow, hot under your palms, and he makes a low chirping moan in the back of his throat that has your bulge aching to be free of your stupid tight pants. "Color, Sol?"

 

" _ Green, _ " he repeats, with so much impatience that you can't help but chuckle. Since he's still good to go, you raise your hand again, and the next ten strikes are each harder than the last, until he's crying out with each one and your hand stings and tingles from the force of it. You reach twenty and lean down to kiss the top of his head. Tears spill over his cheeks. You wipe them away and coo happily at him, nuzzling his horns.

 

He purrs back, closing his eyes and starting to sag in the rig as the tension leaves him. You don't let him rest for long, though- all those caffeinated drinks you gave him earlier should be hitting him right about now. You take your position behind him, half leaning over him. Your fingers wander down his chest and stomach, and then press into the spot right over his bladder. He gasps. You grin. Sol bites his lip and squirms, shifting his hips and trying to bring his thighs together to no avail against the spreader bar. He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut when you squeeze his still-sore ass. All that comes out of his aborted attempt is a long, low whine.

 

"Now-w," you say softly, "I think it's about time you got fucked proper, isn't it, Sol? You'we w-waited long enough." You break out a bulge ring from your sylladex and nudge his bulges with it. They start to seek out the orifice they think it is, at about the same time as Sollux figures out what it is and gasps again, jerking against the ropes. "This is to prewent any... accidents. You w-wouldn't w-want to make a mess of the bed, w-would you?"

 

He hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head. You smirk, and say, "That's w-what I thought. You're a good boy, Sol." Sollux shivers. His bulges take the ring without any issue, and you reward him for it by kissing his shoulder.

 

Finally,  _ finally, _ you captcha your pants, allowing your bulge to slide free. It slides up into the cleft of his ass, rubbing into it, while the head bends back around and seeks out his nook. Your bulge is the most noticeable mutation you have. The Orphaner must have had it, too, you figure, because, being the self-absorbed prig he was, he....

 

Well, he modeled the tip of the Crosshairs after it. It makes you blush, sometimes, just looking at it. Had he no shame?  _ Honestly. _

 

The diamond-shaped head of your bulge finds Sol's nook and pushes in, too impatient for more foreplay. Sollux doesn't seem to mind- quite the opposite, in fact. He moans sweetly, and his nook flutters around you as your bulge wriggles deeper and deeper, until it's pressed up against his seedflap. Even as clumsy as it is, it still has the dexterity to worm its way under the edge and into his genebladder, stretching the opening before your bulge narrows abruptly after the head. Sollux cries out in pleasure, trembling, and you groan under your breath just from how  _ tight _ it is. "Just a few-w more inches," you murmur, rubbing his stomach. Sollux whimpers and curls his fingers into tight fists.

 

Those last few inches take what feels like forever to sink into his genebladder, the tapering width of your bulge struggling to fit. He's just... small, compared to you, and you always have to be careful when you fuck him, because of that. It'll be easier once he hits his next molt; you're guessing he's going to shoot up like a beanstalk due to how much you've been feeding him, and how much healthier he is compared to how he was when you first got together. Still, you worry. It's hard not to worry, when you're nearly seven feet tall, not including your horns, and he's barely hit five foot seven at ten sweeps. You've seen.... videos, of what happens when highbloods get too rough with smaller lowblood partners. It's never pretty. You'd never do that to Sol. Not on purpose. The fact that you have to add that stipulation is what worries you. 

 

Back in the present, away from the dark whirlpool your thoughts spiralled into, Sollux makes a low, desperate noise. You realize with a start that you've stopped moving. With a murmured apology, you stretch your bulge out inside him and he moans, as if on cue. You can feel yourself through the skin of his stomach, and it's still just as hot as it was the first time you two did this. It makes you smile, and you rub yourself through the barrier, as your bulge starts to undulate inside him. You pull your hips back and thrust, testing the waters. After a few more of those cautious thrusts, and no indication of pain from Sol, you pick up the pace, wrapping one hand around his horns and the other around his bulges. Sol makes a sound that's halfway between a pale-purr and a moan, and it's so cute that you can't help but pity-chirp at him.

 

You play with his bulges and slip a finger under the bulge ring, but that gets a hiss of discomfort out of Sollux, so you withdraw it. Instead, you slide two fingers down into his nook and press up on his shame globes, while his bulges curl around your wrist and each other. He whimpers, which of course is music to your ears. You wish you could kiss his neck and leave flowering yellow bruises all over his skin, but the rig gets in the way. Maybe once you take him down. Instead of lamenting the presence of the rig, though, you start using it to your advantage, removing your other hand from his horn so you can grip the rope that he hangs from and pull him towards you for more leverage. This ensures that you get the most movement for the least amount of effort, your thrusts and the swinging of the rig working in harmony to fuck Sollux harder than before. Sol starts to get more vocal- more consistently vocal, at least. He can't seem to keep all his little noises contained anymore, a constant stream of them flowing out of him. As he gets closer to the second climax that you're denying him, he gets louder, too, until he's practically howling.

 

God, you love him so much.

 

You're close, too. How could you not be, with him sounding like this, feeling like this? You thank your past self for getting Sol riled up enough he won't mind how quickly you're going to pail. It becomes a struggle to not get too rough; you bite down on a growl as you speed up, while also trying your best to not hurt him.

 

You pail, and slurry gushes from your bulge into his genebladder, filling him to the point where it leaks out of his nook, his stomach unable to stretch any further. He's got a nice little potbelly, which you rub gently, because it's sweet and you can. Sollux, though, is not so happy. His already-full bladder is protesting the sudden decrease in space, making Sol squirm and whimper and huff, his head tossing from side to side. He... might be too out-there to safeword, which happens sometimes, and in which case you need to get him down and to the ablution block as quickly as possible. You extract your bulge as fast as you can without hurting him, and start untying him from the rig. "Don't w-worry, Sol," you soothe, spending a moment to rub his horns. "I'm gettin' you dow-wn." He slumps a little. Yeah, he's done. You're glad you paid attention.

 

Once you get him down, you scoop him up and carry him to the ablution block, setting him down between your legs as you sit in the trap. Ever so gently, you ease the bulge ring off of his bulges, and are rewarded by Sollux crying out in relief as a gallon of mixed slurry floods out of his bulges and nook. He can't seem to let it  _ all _ out, though, so you help him by pressing down on his stomach. It earns you sharp claws in your thigh and a warbling wail, but also all of the piss he was unable to release due to his tension. It washes down into the drain along with your slurry. Sol goes limp in your arms like a marionette without strings, panting, and presses his face into your neck, eyes scrunched up against the ablution block light. You clap three times to turn it off. He relaxes the rest of the way.

 

Ten minutes pass before Sol comes down enough to talk. He spends almost all of it trembling. You're worried, for a while; it usually doesn't take him this long. However, you won't hurry him. Instead, you hold him close, chest to chest with him in your lap, and guide him through breathing exercises that you're not sure he's coherent enough to really follow, at least in the verbal processing sense. He follows them once you show him how with your own breath, which is good enough for you.   
  
Finally: "That wath fucking intenthe."   
  
You smile and kiss the top of his head, right between his horns. There he is. "Yeah, it w-was," you agree. "W-was it good for you, though? Is there anythin' I coulda done to make it better?" Whether or not insecurity fuels your questions, you always want his feedback so you can improve for next time. Sol is important, and Terrors  _ forbid _ you ever fail to keep ahead of his voracious sexual appetite. You fear the day you run out of crazy kink shit to do with him. The day he gets bored with you, part of you is convinced.   
  
"I don't think I can properly protheth that requetht right now," he says. That's fair. He's only just come back, after all. "I'll think about it and get back to you later. Ith that okay? It wath good. I promithe."

You nod and reach around him to turn the faucet on. "Good. It's okay, Sol. Let's just take a bath and recower, alright?"   
  
"Yeah," he says, resting against you, and you let the roar of the water fill your ears.


End file.
